Wildflowers
by Letters to Ghosts
Summary: "I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone, so the garden, one day, set me free." 16-year-old Rayna gets kicked out of the house.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I wanted to thank everyone who posted a review for "That Quiet, Intimate Thing"._

* * *

Rayna leans against the payphone and looks at the dark road one more time. No headlights in sight. It's barely been five minutes since she called Deacon, he said he would be there as soon as he could but he can't work miracles either. She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.

The minute she stormed through the door, she regretted her impulsiveness. She could have grabbed her boots and jacket on her way out but anger clouded every bit of good judgement she may have had at the time. Once outside, her pride wouldn't let her turn around. Her dad had been clear anyway: you cross that door, you're not coming back. She walked miles in socks, hoping all the way that no one from their upper-class – and always prone to call the police – neighborhood would drive by and notice her.

Socks. Underwear. A sweatshirt. A pair of jeans.

In theory, this is everything she owns now. This and half the coins she found in her pocket earlier, the other half having already been spent on the payphone.

She's strangely calm. She assumes the emotions she should be going through at the moment are more in the range of worry to panic but for now, she feels surprisingly serene. She feels surprisingly _relieved_. These last months have been nothing but constant conflict with her dad about music, about Deacon, about her life.

When Watty called this morning to tell her about the paying gig he got her for next Friday, it took everything she had to keep her calm. _It's happening_. Five minutes later, she was on the phone with Deacon, talking rehearsals and setlists, already devising plans for the kind of future this gig could lead them into.

"This is the first of many, Ray."

She didn't stop smiling for the next hour.

In her ideal scenario, she would have been eager to announce it to her dad. He would have rejoiced at the news, he would have understood what it meant for her. What she did instead was spend most of her Saturday afternoon trying to decide if she was going to risk telling him at all. When he got home tonight, she gathered her courage. The very moment she pronounced Watty White's name, the tiny hope she still held that he would take the news well vanished into thin air. She's not sure why she even held hope in the first place. They've been strangers living under the same roof since Tandy left for college last year. After their mother died, her sister had always been the one to act as a mediator, the one who tried to keep the three of them into something resembling a family.

A car pulls over on the side of the road. She's about to walk towards it when she realizes that with the headlights blinding her, she can't be entirely sure it's Deacon's. He gets out in a rush and heads into her direction before her hesitation can turn into alarm.

"You're alright?"

She slides her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder. He pulls her closer into his warmth.

"Yes."

When she moves back, he looks down at her feet.

"Ray..."

"It's fine, just take me home."

 _Home_. His apartment is not her home. It is, however, what has felt the closest to one lately. Deacon doesn't flinch at her use of the word.

"Alright." He removes his jacket and hands it to her before they get into his car.

They drive in silence for a while.

"What happened exactly?"

"He said I was allowed to stay in his house but I had to live by his rules. It wasn't going to happen. I left. End of story."

"He kicked you out like that?"

"I _left_ like that."

She falls silent again. Deacon throws a look sideways to see her absently drawing with her finger on the misted window.

"I need a job," she says, suddenly.

"You have a job. You, me, next Friday, remember?"

"I mean a job that is going to pay for more than the gas to go there."

"Baby, you can stay at my place as long as you want and I'll help you as much as I can but are you sure—"

"Deacon, I'm not your responsability."

"I know. But I'll be happy to help, if you want me to. And I was going to say, are you sure your dad won't change his mind?"

" _I_ won't change my mind."

Deacon Claybourne met Rayna Jaymes less than five months ago but he's already familiar with that look of determination on her face. She'll let nothing stand in her way.

* * *

Rayna is still waiting for reality to sink in and for panic to ensue but Deacon's bed, on a Sunday morning, with the sound of guitar coming from the kitchen, is not the place where it's going to happen.

She stirs, tempted to close her eyes again. Why did Deacon feel the need to get up already. She's about to call him back to bed when she notices the piece of paper laid down for her on his pillow. It's a note in his handwriting with lyrics she knows by heart.

 _I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right_  
 _In a garden so different from me_  
 _I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone_  
 _So the garden, one day, set me free._

 _When a flower grows wild, it can always survive_  
 _Wildflowers don't care where they grow._

He's sitting on one of the kitchen's chairs, strumming softly on his guitar, when she appears from the bedroom. She leans to kiss him. As she pulls away, he tugs at the hem of the blue t-shirt he lent her last night.

"Where are you going?"

"To steal your orange juice."

His tone gets more serious, "How are you doing?"

"Good, really. Don't worry."

"Do we need to expect your sister here at some point today, barging in, insulting me and trying to knock some sense into you?"

"Probably."

"Good to know."

She heads towards the cupboard in search of a glass. Without turning to look at him, she starts to sing quietly.

 _I uprooted myself from home ground and left_  
 _Took my dreams and I took to the road._

Deacon smiles.

"Breakfast?"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I had meant this as a one-shot but a second chapter somehow popped into my head._

* * *

Deacon doesn't need to open the door to know who's on the other side. The persistent knocking is enough of a tell.

"Tandy."

"Where is she?"

He moves aside to let her in. Tandy throws a wary look around as she unconsciously clutches her purse tighter. She's never been here before. Deacon wonders how she even found the address and got back in town on such a short notice but he's not going to ask.

Deacon knew that, if someone was going to show up today, it was going to be Tandy. Lamar would never have dignified them with his presence. He's too proud of a man for that but Tandy cares more about Rayna than she cares about any misplaced pride.

"Hello, Tandy." All Rayna is wearing as she emerges from the bedroom is his shirt and a defiant look and Deacon rapidly assesses his escape route. He quietly retreats to the bedroom as both sisters sit down at the kitchen table.

"I won't change my mind."

Tandy hadn't expected this conversation to start any other way. "Can we at least have a pragmatic, reasonable discussion about this?"

"We can."

Tandy pauses, not sure how to begin, even though she spent the whole drive back thinking about what the most effective approach would be. "So... you left."

"I did." Two syllables seem to be the best Rayna has to offer.

"You're not going to help me, are you?"

"Tandy, you know it was a long time coming."

"You're not old enough for anything to have been _a long time coming_."

"You know what I mean."

"And that's why you left without any shoes, any suitcase and, I suppose, any plan?"

"I do have a plan," Rayna counters, trying to sound resolute yet not defensive. It's only half a lie anyway. She does have a plan. More of a long-term one than a short-term one, if she's going to be honest.

"Becoming a coutry star is not a _plan_."

"Watty White is helping me. He already got us a paying gig."

"The kind of paying gig which will be enough for you to afford a rent, food or clothes?"

"I'll live here until I get a job and I'll devote all my free time to music. I'll devote _my life_ to music. This is what I'm meant to do."

"Do you realize how insanely idealistic it sounds?"

Rayna doesn't answer.

"There are other ways," Tandy adds, more softly.

"There are not. Not with Dad. You know that."

It's Tandy's turn to stay silent. She knows Rayna is right but unlike Rayna, she knows _why_ their dad will never support her choice of career. She read the letters. The letters she found after their mom died. She hasn't shown them to Rayna, she doesn't plan to, she knows how much her little sister looked up to their mom and she won't do anything that could potentially hurt Rayna's memories of her.

"You've really made up your mind?" she asks.

"Yes."

She gets up then and Rayna tenses up.

"That's... all? Don't you... don't you want to stay a little longer?"

"No, but... I'll go get you clothes and some of your things at Dad's house and I'll drop them here later."

Rayna is confused. "Thanks, Tandy."

She gets up too and joins her sister at the door. All of a sudden, it dawns on Rayna. It is real, then. There is no one to drag her home against her will this time, there's no turning back. She is on her own. It's what she wanted, wasn't it? In one quick move, she wraps her arms around her sister and holds her close.

"Don't worry about me," she whispers.

"I'll always worry about you. That's my sisterly duty, sweetheart."

She's reluctant to let go of the hug. It's Tandy who steps back first and gives Rayna's arm a gentle squeeze before she leaves. Rayna closes the door behind her and when she turns around, Deacon is standing at the bedroom's threshold.

"You're alright?"

She's not sure she's got an easy answer to that question at the moment. "Do you think I'm insanely idealistic?"

"I moved to Nashville with the same kind of dream as yours. If I say yes, that would make me an hypocrite."

"And it turned out okay, right?"

"If barely making a living but doing what I love is the definition of _okay_ , I guess I'm doing okay."

She takes a long, deep breath before she looks at him fiercely. "You and me, Deacon, we'll do so much more than okay."

He's not an optimist by nature, life never gave him reasons to be, but this time he's inclined to believe her.

* * *

"I can hear you thinking."

"I would hope not."

His muffled laughter echoes in the dark and she rolls over in the direction of his voice. Her head lands on his bicep and her arm across his chest.

"You're worried about tomorrow?" he asks, shifting slightly on the bed so she can readjust her head to a comfier position on his shoulder.

"I'm not worried, I'm... wired."

He starts stroking her back slowly. "It's a good thing."

"Should we use a band name?"

"I believe Watty's plans are for you to play under a solo name and for me to be your guitar player. I'm fine with that."

"We could be a duo."

He grins. "Shoeless Girl and the Insanely Idealistic Fool."

"That's the worst band name I've ever heard."

"That's the _best_ band name I've ever heard," he retorts, faking outrage.

"I'm going to stick with Rayna Jaymes."

"Sounds wise."

"Babe?"

"Hmm?"

"Are we living together?"

He chuckles. "So it would seem, for the time being."

"Thanks for letting me stay here."

He smiles, kisses the top of her head. "You're quite easy to live with, shoeless girl."

* * *

He's been looking for her everywhere and when he finally finds her, she's sitting alone on a bench a few feet left from the venue's main entrance.

"You're smoking now?"

"I'm making changes lately, haven't you heard?"

"Maybe you should give up on that particular one."

She coughs. "Probably." She drops the cigarette to the ground and Deacon stubs it out with his boot before he sits next to her. He's still buzzing from the gig. The room was packed and they left the stage 15 minutes ago to a rapturous response. He thought Rayna would be over the moon but she looks more pensive than euphoric.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, it's just that..."

"Ray?"

Almost no one else calls her that. He's just recently started doing it and she loves how intimate and right it sounds when it comes from him.

"Tonight, on stage, it was... _incredible_."

Deacon can hear the excitement in her voice and he smiles because she sounds like the Rayna he knows again. "It was."

"I don't want to do anything else, Deacon. Not now, not ever. This has to work. I _need_ this to work."

He puts a finger under her chin and guides her gaze to his.

"It will."


	3. Chapter 3

Rayna has already crossed the street, and is hurrying away from the venue when Deacon catches up with her.

"Ray!"

"Leave me alone."

"You're planning to walk all the way home?" It's been four months she's been living at his place, and by now, they've both started to refer to his appartment as their home. He grabs her arm, prompting her to stop and turn around. "I'm sorry this guy ruined our show, but—"

"This guy? _You_ ruined our show!" She stands arms folded in front of him. When he tries to take one step forward, she takes one backward.

"What was I supposed to do?"

"Nothing! I can handle one drunken dumbass yelling 'Show me your boobs!' You didn't need to jump downstage and beat the crap out of him!" After considerable negotiations, they'd convinced the manager not to call the police. He'd made it clear, though, that they would never play there again. "We're just starting to get a reputation across town," she points out. "We'll never get booked again if you do that kind of thing."

"It's one venue."

"Word travels fast."

He sighs. "I know." He can't pretend he doesn't regret it now. He can't swear he wouldn't do it again either. It's Rayna. She elicits a protectiveness in him he doesn't intend but can't seem to help. "Let's not talk about this here. Let's go home."

"I'll walk," she says, stubborn, as she turns around and leave.

He doesn't follow her, but he tries to appeal to reason. "Come on, it's stupid."

"You would know something about that," she yells over her shoulder.

* * *

Deacon wakes up to an empty bed. He was in the bedroom last night when he'd heard her make her way inside the appartment. He'd waited for her to appear in the doorway, but she never did. When he'd ventured outside 10 minutes later, he'd found her asleep – or at least pretending to be – on the couch.

He isn't sure what's the protocol to follow. They've disagreed or bickered before, of course, but within an hour, they had both forgotten about it.

"Ray?" he calls out tentatively as he puts a shirt on. No answer. He walks outside the bedroom thinking she might be gone. He finds her sitting on the living room's floor, her back propped against the couch, and her knees half pulled up. She's writing in a notebook resting against her thighs.

"I thought maybe you'd left," he says.

She doesn't answer. It hadn't occurred to her before how small his appartment really is. There isn't much space to retreat to when they fight, a situation they hadn't run into until last night.

He goes to sit next to her. "Maybe you should have," he says.

She doesn't look up. "Should have what?"

"Leave."

This catches her attention, and she finally takes her eyes off the pages of her notebook. "Are you serious?"

He'd had too much time to think, tossing and turning alone in his bed. "Ray, I've been wondering, and not just because of last night, if all this is a good idea after all. You're not supposed to be living in... _this_ ," he gestures to the appartment, "you're not supposed to be playing to an audience of assholes who disrespect you."

"You're blowing it out of proportion."

"I want what's best for you."

"This life is what's best for me."

"You're too young to—"

"To know what I want?" she finishes for him. There's a mixture of anger and hurt in her eyes, a combo he's already seen there before but which isn't normally aimed at him. "I expect this from my dad, my sister, but not from you, Deacon."

"Ray—"

"Do you _want_ me to leave?"

"Of course not. But sometimes I think you should."

She doesn't yell or even raise her voice, yet he doesn't recall having ever seen her so pissed off. "Either you want to be with me or you don't, but you don't pull this 'I'm not good enough for you' cowardly crap."

He waits a few seconds before he admits, "This scares me."

She frowns. "What does?" His sudden honesty seems to have soften her ire.

"I encouraged you on this path and I'm scared something will happen to you because of it."

"I can take care of myself. You need to have a little more faith in me."

"I do have faith in you. It's everyone else I don't trust."

She smiles at that. "Deacon." She scoots over closer to him. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I would have ended up on this path, one way or another," she adds. "You being on it with me only makes it so much better."

He wants to believe her. She's certainly the best thing that ever happened to _him_. His natural inclination to always expect the worst still makes it hard for him to accept his new happiness, but he's trying. He's trying.

He drops a kiss to the top of her head. "What were you scribbling in there, little doodles of me alongside knifes and skulls?" he jokes, pointing at her notebook.

"Complete with horns," she plays along. He tries to sneak a peek inside. She shuts it closed before he gets to do so. "Lyrics," she explains, "but I think it's for the best you don't read those."

He waits a few seconds before he tries to steal the notebook from her. "Hey!" she protests. They playfully wrestle to get control of it. He lets her win, and he ends up lying on his back while she straddles him. "Ha!" She opens the notebook, tears up the last few pages, before she throws it on the couch. She folds the pages three times, and slips them into her shirt to stick them into her bra.

He chuckles. "You know that it makes me _more_ inclined to go looking for them, right?"

"Yes, but it'll make you too distracted to want to read them." They both laugh at that.

"Probably true."

She reaches for his hands and laces their fingers. "Babe?"

"Mmm?"

"I hate when we fight."

"Me too." He lifts himself back up, and wraps his arms around her waist. "Let's not."


End file.
